Picnic Time For Teddybears
by Mad Server
Summary: Dean's got a summer cold.  Sam makes him feel better.  Slash.


A/N: _*strums* Meeeeeeme._

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><p>Cool fingers in his hair, a steady cricket chirp. Dean sighs awake in the dark room, breathes in the smell of toothpaste.<p>

"Mh."

"Hey." Sam's fingertips trace across his forehead, rub his eyebrows backwards and smooth them out. "How you feeling?"

Dean nuzzles into Sam's palm, blinks sleepily out the window at the last dregs of color in the sky. "Musta fallen asleep."

"Musta needed it."

Plastic crinkles and Sam's shifting on the bed, closing his warm hand around Dean's. "C'mere. I want to show you something."

Dean mashes the heel of his hand over his eyes, grunts at the cramp in his back as he straightens. He pats the bedside table for his gun but Sam pulls him close, strokes splayed hands down his back.

"No no," Sam murmurs into his temple. "Don't need anything. You're covered."

Dean lets Sam's fingers close over his, stumbles out the door after him and down a dirt path, stares down to keep from tripping on the roots. He smells something else now, woodsmoke.

"Sam?"

Sam turns and smiles at him, and his dimples show, and Dean frowns and blows his nose. Then Sam says, "Look."

It's a lake, and beside the lake is a fire pit, and beside the fire is a picnic table. Sam lifts his plastic bag and sets out marshmallows, tissues, a six-pack of PBR. He crumples the sack and stuffs it in his jacket pocket.

A mosquito whines around Dean's ear. He grabs at it, grinds his fingers together. "Smokey'd have your ass."

"Wasn't gone long. No wind tonight, either." Sam gestures at the pail of lakewater standing by the flames. "And I prepared."

"Well." Smoke drifts into Dean's eyes and he squints against the sting. "Guess that worked out."

Sam picks up a stick off the bench seat and pokes at the fire. Bright sparks drift up into the sky.

Dean scuffs a toe in the dirt until a wave of weariness washes over him. He sits down at the picnic table, folds his arms and drops his head.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Dean croaks. He snuffles up a breath and pushes it out through his mouth. Out on the lake, a loon calls.

"Want me to make you a marshmallow?"

Smiling, Dean opens his eyes. Sam's got a slender twig in his hand, all pointy.

"Nobody does 'em like you, Sammy."

Sam rips open the bag, skewers two. "You always burnt yours."

Dean coughs out a laugh. "I just wanted you to do it for me."

"I know." Sam twists his stick back and forth over the fire. "I didn't mind."

Dean cracks a beer and chases another tickle back down his throat. "You mail those credit card applications?"

"Yeah. What names did you pick?"

A grin spreads over Dean's face. He watches the firelight play over the tips of Sam's hair. "Good ones."

Sam groans, warm eyes scanning him. "Not Butch Cassidy. Dean, people will notice Butch Cassidy."

"Not Butch Cassidy."

Sam pulls the marshmallows up close to examine them, lowers them to the pit. "Thank God. Who?"

"You're warm."

"Wyatt Earp?"

"Oh yeah, that'd sound way more normal than Butch Cassidy."

"Dean..."

Dean sneezes all over his arm, tears open the box of tissues. "John Wayne," he manages before spraying his knuckles.

"Okay. I can live with John Wayne. Bless you, twice."

By the time Dean finishes honking and snuffling, his marshmallow's ready. He coaxes it off the end of the stick, watches Sam follow suit. The outside is crispy between his fingers. Watching each other, they put the sugar into their mouths.

"Ngh," Dean moans around a mouth-breath. "Truly, you are the god of marshmallows."

Sam swallows happily, comes around the picnic table. He squeezes Dean's neck, massages his shoulders. Dean drops his forehead to his arms with a deep sigh.

Sam's fingers tickle through the short hairs at the back of his neck, trace in behind his ears, scratch lightly over his scalp. Crickets chirp, the fire pops and crackles. Dean feels himself start to drift off.

Soft lips touch the base of his skill. "Dean."

"Hmm?"

"What was the other name?"

Dean coughs until he has to get up from the picnic table to have more room. Tears stream down his face.

"Whoa, hey, hey. You okay?"

Dean's cheeks hurt from smiling. "Oh yeah. You'll see."

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><p>Prompt: <em>SamDean, sick!Dean, possible schmoop. Today was the first day that truly felt like summer here. What about Dean with a summer cold? And Sam making him feel better._


End file.
